![]() ![]() Maggie Simmons had been the reason I’d stayed in this village. With a shrug and another smile she left but not before the casual use of Maggie’s name made my chest tighten in grief. You’re not supposed to be able to get it right the first time. Maggie made this cake for nearly ninety years. ![]() Doris patted my hand again and nodded in her most reassuring fashion. Every single cup of flour and tablespoon of butter, every teaspoon of nutmeg, and I’d even performed algebra to work out what two-thirds of a cup was compared to a whole cup. The mess let out an audible bleurgh as it collapsed in on itself around the massive hole that had somehow appeared during the cooking of it. I poked what was left of the applesauce cake with a fork. I mean, how difficult could it be to not fuck up something when I had the recipe sitting in front of me? ![]() Doris patted my hand gently in her usual reassuring way. ![]()
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